look up in pandemic

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such times of great loss can open our eyes

to see truth more clearly and recognize lies

will you find any comfort in political ties?

 

a plague is upon us, mutant Covid-19

streets almost empty, few people are seen

how can we possibly wash our hands clean?

 

ashes to ashes, we chant mournful tune

whoever thought they would die so soon?

“barn’s burnt down, now i can see moon.”

 

in night’s deepest darkness, the Light brightly shines

to show us the path in these difficult times:

“Do not be afraid…because you are Mine!”

 

will we humble ourselves, even kneel down to pray

asking God to forgive our proud wandering ways?

may He grant us his mercy and restore us today.

 

 


Linking to dVerse Poets pub where Mish encourages us to write on this quote:  “Barn’s burnt down, now I can see the moon” – Mizuta Masahide. 

Photo by Fusion Medical Animation on Unsplash.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

safe sanctuary

 

close restaurants
and coffee shops,
take away my chai
latte and stuffed crab,
hang the last TP rolls
from nearest tree, and
cancel church services

even if infected with
coronavirus at home
(my childhood home
was on corona street)
& quarantined, i will
yet have a sanctuary
for my heart to rest

within the soul’s home
found in Yahweh/God
whose name is breath;
i breathe His presence
as close as a heartbeat,
prayers whispered and
translated by the Spirit

forever and ever amen.

 

images

 

 

 

mariner’s musings

 

when warmer air stirs sweet memories on
those youthful days when he sailed waves of sea
feeling of freedom worth dreaming upon

he watched the sky in experienced way
and listened for foghorn’s woeful low sound
to safely guide ship back into the bay

love of the sea understood beyond speech
lives on after old sailor’s laid to rest
like signal of lighthouse on rocky beach

 

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Laura Bloomsbury challenges us to write three tercets in pentameter (optional) with set rhyme scheme. Linking to dVerse Poets

capricious cupid

 

Remembering crushes of puppy love and youthful dating experiences, I don’t know why I was surprised…every time love started or ended, the rest of the world faded into the background. Romantic tunnel vision of a new love found or an old love lost always claims intense focus.

The angst of the question answered by plucking daisy petals…he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me? Daydreams of mutual admiration, chance meetings, sweet conversations, drinking in their eyes, perhaps a soft kiss. Memorizing the beloved’s face while mesmerized by their smile.

The emotional wreckage of a relational break up and subsequent painful questions of why, why not, why not us? The second guessing and the blame game are all consuming. Disappointment, anger, and loneliness mingle in tears wiped on sleeves, pillows and friend’s shoulder.

Infatuation is fickle but a promise is forever.

 

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Diamond brooch – Ruby Lane

 


At dVerse poets pub, Merril  challenges us to write prosery of 144 words including the line (bold) from Jane Hirshfield’s poem, “I Want to Be Surprised.”

grandma’s kitchen

 

so much depends upon

the stainless tea kettle

whistling

on bisque enamel stove

next to bunch of yellow

ripened bananas and a

 warm batch

of  ginger crackle cookies.

 


William Carlos Williams’ poem about the red wheelbarrow inspired this poem…

paint chip poetry

 

what the world needs?
ask any child and they’ll say:
swimming pool in my backyard
or smiling dandelion bouquet!

turn world into arboretum
smell the wonderful wisteria
pass around free cotton candy
play in full moon lit mysteria

please rub on that gold genie lamp
and send us all to summer camp!

 

 


Linking to Linda’s paint chip poetry prompt here…

 

 

b is for boaz

 

baby boy
bouncy baby boy
beautiful bouncy baby boy
big beautiful bouncy baby boy

brother to four
older sister-mothers
who coo when you cry,
“you know that we love you!”

breast-fed and chubby
with soft rolls of charm
your smiling blue eyes
and adorable dimples

grandma’s ticklish touch
triggers wiggly giggles
you’re round and delightful,
sweet-cheeked apple of my eye!

 

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a martian education

Linking this haibun to dVerse Poets pub where Frank Tassone is our host…


 

Mars, that ready, ruddy, rusty, dusty planet hangs between Earth and Jupiter; named for the Roman god of War. We contemplate his heavenly body in the mighty month of March: muscular, iron clad, and vengeful.  Is not war an erupting march to madness, leaving black death and blood-stained pockmarks in its wake?!

Violent dust storms, extreme seasons, and an atmosphere of carbon dioxide make Mars inhospitable yet aerospace scientists dream of manned flights to the fourth planet. My sons participated in a Mars project where 6th graders designed a biosphere for future immigrants. We once visited an abandoned biosphere in Arizona where personnel’s’ personal relationships were the demise of the mission.

Ray Bradbury’s Martian Chronicles and C.S. Lewis’ Space Trilogy put science fiction on the cultural map, stretching literary minds and stirring curiosity in our celestial, terrestrial neighbor beyond our moon. In Lewis’ Out of the Silent Planet, Oyarsa, the ruling power of Malacandra (a.k.a. Mars), declares,

”The weakest of my people does not fear death. It is the Bent One, the lord of your world, who wastes your lives and befouls them with flying from what you know will overtake you in the end. If you were subjects of Maleldil [God of Malacandra] you would have peace.”

 

mars’ olympus mons;

civilization’s high peak–

active volcano?

mars

image courtesy of NASA

Uncle Jim

 

we’re passing shadows
from dust to dust again;
Jim’s baptism~memorial
marked in same church.

his body now laid to rest
soul released into glory;
farmer planted in the soil
harvest is brought home.

casket bouquet features
corn, fishing pole, tractor;
children, grands & greats,
fruit of faithful marriage.

he outlived son & one lung,
now breathes heaven’s air;
entered the land of living…
those left behind will come

 

 

 

ash wednesday

fallen…in rebellion

we are but broken twigs

fuel for feeding the fire;

ephemoral ash and smoke

all black-tarred with sticky guilt

destined for eternal combustion

in hot flames of the Almighty’s

justifiable wrath;  pure holiness

cannot ignore injustice and

violence interminably nor can

Love itself tolerate ingrates’ hate.

his heart weeps as he sweeps

the good earth clean again in

a purifying inferno.

 

__________

 

forgiven…lifted up

by Grace we learn to

see our true selves as

repentant and redeemed;

washed joyous clean again

in the blood of the Son’s one

done sacrifice;  destined for

eternal restored relationship

with our Creator/Father

who in open-armed mercy

accepts us in Agape love itself

which transforms our earthly

mirror images to reflect light

of perfecting peace.

 

coffee shop poetry

 

two mature women,
we follow each other
around our small town
from pharmacy to the
grocery store; probably
visited same hair stylist
(who is also my niece)
by shape of our haircutsIMG_6748

smile, exchange names
by parked grocery carts
mourn recent loss of
local coffee shop which
offered espresso, lattes,
(and favorite chai tea)
along with scones, tarts,
and crusty baguettes.

why couldn’t our town
sustain the business?
would anyone start it
again (sans machines,
a larger investment)?
we need a place like it
although obviously we
didn’t patronize enough

better than starbucks,
unique small town shop
with drive-up window
and friendliest service
has me contemplating
the reason for reading
(or even for writing) a
daily poem, served hot.

 

 


Borrowed line from L.L. Barkat: “contemplating the reason for reading a daily poem” for Poems from the Coffee Shop prompt at Tweetspeak Poetry.  Also linking with dVerse Poets where Merril prompts us to write about “impermanence”.

american barn cat

 

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brave little kitten

strong paws climb to freedom’s heights

bold-striped liberty

 

 


Linking to “kittens” prompt at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai

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